


The Great Escape

by ussnicole



Category: Fall Out Boy, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Depression, Don't worry, Ice Cream, Kidnapping, M/M, Mikey is done, Pete needs money, Sarcasm, Suicide Attempt, mention of drugs, no one dies kids
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-22
Updated: 2017-08-10
Packaged: 2018-11-17 08:41:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11271930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ussnicole/pseuds/ussnicole
Summary: Mikey Way is quite through with living, thank you very much. What’s the point? He’s got no friends, the money he received from his parents’ estate when they passed away can’t fill their places, and he just lost his job - the last bit of color in his days. Everything is grey and sad and the same, and he’s ready to end it all. What else to do but walk to the bridge, the one downtown? He’s already in Hell.Pete Wentz is not having a good day. He’s behind on his rent and his “best friend” is threatening to put out a hit on him if Pete doesn’t cough up the money from the drugs he was supposed to sell (he lost them, okay? He’s not that kind of guy). So what else to do but kidnap someone and hold them for ransom? He’s already fucked.(Danger Days Mikey and Take This To Your Grave Pete)





	1. Mikey

The problem with today’s audience is that they always want the gory details, never the backstory. Well… too fucking bad because this is my life and not some movie you can fast forward just to see the hero die. Newsflash! I’m not a hero. I’m just me. Mikey Way. 21, rich, unemployed, and depressed. And I’m on my way to kill myself. You’re welcome, there’s some gore. In approximately… ten minutes, I’ll be a pancake on the sidewalk with a side of strawberry jelly and some stray brain matter.  

But that’s not the point yet. First I have to tell you why. 

So we got the depression part; here’s why. My parents died recently in a freak accident. They were vacationing up in the mountains and a mysterious fire started during the night. Neither of them made it out. The police like to come around and ask me if they had any enemies. Apparently it wasn’t an accident or something. On top of that, the shitty little job I had at a bookstore around the corner had to “let me go” because they’re being forced to downsize as ebooks are gaining popularity. 

Of course, it’s not like I needed the money. My parents were multimillionaires, and I’m quite comfortable. But the money doesn’t make me happy; I never did care about it. Sure, I never have to wear out my shoes, but it’s not like I can sit down with a stack of cash and talk to it about my future and play game nights on Saturdays. Family game night is really depressing without family, no matter how much I complained about it when they were alive. 

No, I loved that job because of the books. My coworkers were nice, and the boss was fine, and the hours were decent, but my god, the books. I hated school but loved reading, and I still do. My favorite are comic books, but because of the job I was able to get into novels, and I felt so happy. Without the job, I could still read, but home is too quiet and I always get distracted when I turn on the radio or the television to escape the silence. 

Hence the walking to my death at midnight. Now that we’re all caught up, that’s what I’m doing. Taking a quick hike in the urban jungle to that tall bridge on 7th that goes over the park and by those ugly apartments that they put up two years ago. I’m planning on jumping right by the ugly apartments because it’s like a little bit of payback to whoever put up those hideous buildings in the first place. They’ll be scrubbing me off their steps for a week at least. I know because someone did it last year and you can still kind of see the bloodstains. Permanent graffiti: a fitting way to go. 

I can see the bridge and I start to walk slower, cherishing the moments I’ve got. I’m not backing out on this, no way in hell, but no one’s around and I’m alone and yet… no suffocating silence. The people sleep but the city is awake, ever watchful. The wind blows trash and leaves down the sidewalk, creating a  _ swooshswoosh  _ kind of noise that nips at my ankles as the debris rolls by. A brave raccoon emerges from a sewer grate a block down and sniffs around a garbage can, making plans. I cross a street and hear laughter and loud voices in the distance: a nightclub. A utopia for the insomniacs and the lonely ones. I frequented places like that for a while, but they were too loud, too dark, and the bouncers always made me leave my demons at the door. Bad service if there ever was any. 

I keep walking. Everything is going fine, until - 

I can’t see and I’m being manhandled into a car. Doors slam and brakes squeal and someone breathes heavily, muttering to themselves

I start to laugh; I can’t help it. How goddamn ironic.


	2. Pete

Y’know, when you’re a teenager, no one tells you that the big scary world is waiting right on the other side of your eighteenth birthday. One day, you’re complaining about high school drama and trying to get into that hot guy’s - I meant girls - no I didn’t fuck society - pants, and the next day you’re an adult and you have to pay taxes and buy groceries for yourself. You’d think I’d be used to it, I’m twenty one for god’s sakes, but I’m not. 

No, I am far from. For starters, I can barely afford the shithole I get to call home. My apartment is tiny, I don’t have furniture and I can’t afford much anyway. On top of that, my “best friend” Brendon keeps calling, threatening to send someone to kill me if I don’t get him the money I owe him for the drugs he shoved off on me. Yeah, he threatened to kill me if I didn’t sell them too. He’s a real prince of a guy. I didn’t sell them, for chrissakes. I flushed all that cocaine down the toilet. I might have been drunk. I’m kind of sick of people telling me what to do.

Anyway, I am superbly screwed. Rent is due next week and last time I checked, there were fifteen cents in my bank account. And Brendon called ten minutes ago, telling me that if he doesn’t get his money by next week (WHEN MY RENT IS DUE) he’s going to make sure that I don’t have a single inch of unbruised skin before he slits my throat. Personally. Honestly, I’m a little flattered; he hates getting blood on his fancy shoes. Sometimes I really hate him, but good god Brendon is really good in bed and no matter how shitty my life is, I have to enjoy something, right? I’ve never had a serious relationship, and I’m beginning to understand why. I like sex, but people? Can’t stand them. 

Of course, this is a wild tangent that none of you needed to know and has very little to do with what I’m doing right now, which is driving around downtown with a scarf, a scary scary gun that I stole from Brendon last time we hooked up, and some duct tape. I have no idea what I’m doing and I’m honestly kind of tired. It’s past midnight and I’m just a kid, pretending like I know what I’m doing. Pretending like I know exactly how to kidnap and hold someone ransom. 

Oh yeah, I love adulting. 

And suddenly, I see him. A lanky guy, easily three inches taller than me, walking alone. His head is down and he doesn’t seem to be looking around. Perfect. I mean, his ass is wonderful, or as much as I can see of it in the headlights, but that’s besides the point. I’m here to kidnap him, not seduce him. Although… stockholm syndrome, amirite. 

Never mind. 

I’ve got a victim to kidnap. 


	3. Mikey

I’ve been shoved haphazardly into the backseat of a car. My hands are taped together by what I assume is duct tape, and there’s a soft black fabric tied around my head. My best guess is a scarf. This is awfully shoddy for a kidnapping job, but I can’t stop laughing to be offended. Of course I’m kidnapped right as I’m about to go fishing for concrete. Doesn’t matter if the kidnapper is a complete amateur. I think it kind of adds to the irony. 

“Dude, what the fuck? Why are you laughing? I just kidnapped you! Jesus, of course I kidnap a fucking psycho,” the guy says. Well, now I know it’s a guy. That makes me feel a little better. At least I didn’t get my ass handed to me by a girl. He also sounds young, around my age. Hmm. You know, I’m not so depressed right now. This is turning out to be the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in a long, long time. I can’t see through the blindfold, but I know that when it comes off the world will be colorful again - not grey. Who knew? 

I stifle my laughter long enough to respond: “I was on my way to kill myself. I’m sure you can see the irony.” I’m greeted with a long silence punctuated with small mumbles here and there, and then the car swerves over and stops. I hear him whisper  _ I am so fucking stupid _ before hands are grasping the blindfold on my face and tugging it off. 

I was right; he looks to be right around my age, though at least a few inches shorter. I’m almost offended, but then I remember that the heaviest thing I’ve ever lifted was a box of books and that almost killed me, so of course I didn’t put up a very good fight. That and the ‘I’ve lost my will to live’ thing. 

My kidnapper has dark hair and tattoos, but he doesn’t look like a criminal. He just looks like a scared guy, in too deep into something he doesn’t know how to get out of. Did I mention I study psychology for fun? Yeah. Didn’t ever help me figure out what was going on in my own head. Anyway, he’s looking at me, but not really at the same time. It’s like he’s looking right through me, his expression pained. 

“Look, I’m sorry to disappoint you. I have money if you want it. I have a lot, in fact. A lot that I don’t need, because I was just heading to an appointment with the bridge on 7th. Take the money and drop me off and we’ll call it even and no one will ever know, alright?” This seems like a perfectly reasonable compromise, so I’m surprised when he gets out of the car. I shrug and sit back as he walks around to the door next to me, opens it, and takes off my duct tape. He seems a little embarrassed that the tape just kind of slides off, but I don’t say anything. He appears to be having what the people like to call a “bad day.” Once the tape is off, he gently grabs my arm and pulls me from the car. I feel like a giant next to him, but I also don’t mention that. I follow him patiently as he leads me forward two steps and then gestures for me to get in the passenger seat. 

What the hell. It’s not like I was doing anything important anyway. 


	4. Pete

As soon as I get that asshole into the back of my car, he starts laughing. This is the first sign that things aren’t going the way I want them to, but when do they ever? He keeps laughing and I ask him what the hell his problem is. And this peach, this cupcake, this lovely individual tells me he was about to  _ fucking kill himself _ . 

This is right about the time where I zone out and start talking to myself. This dude probably has no money. If he’s about to go kill himself, odds are people might not be looking for him. Maybe no one will care enough to pay the ransom and get him back. This is very bad news. 

But this is the least of my worries. I’ve been there, the ‘walking to the bridge at midnight because I’m done with life’ thing, and I can absolutely understand the appeal. But someone stopped me. No one else was going to stop him, so now it’s my problem. 

What a nightmare. 

I’m not an asshole though, so I pull over. Fuck the money, fuck the rent, fuck Brendon (oh wait, I did). This dude is gonna live, and I’m gonna help him. The blindfold slides right off, and I am met by sad, calm eyes. He starts talking, telling me that he has money and he’ll give it to me. He wants me to drop him off at the bridge. I can’t take it anymore. I get out of my car, walk around to the other side, and open the back door. He watches silently as I take the tape off his wrists. Embarrassingly enough, it slides off fairly easily. To his credit, he doesn’t say anything. And now that I’m thinking about it, I didn’t gag him. Goddamn, I’m an idiot. Even when his tape is off and he can so obviously run away, he just sits there though, and I wonder what the hell he’s doing. But since he’s still here, I grab his arm carefully and pull him out of the car. He follows me and gets into the passenger seat.

As I slide into the driver’s seat, I say, “Well, this has been the weirdest experience of my life.” He just snorts, so I introduce myself. “I’m Pete. I’m sorry I kidnapped you. I’ve been having a really bad… bad.” He looks at me, cracks a smile, and laughs again. When he calms down, he answers me with laughter in his eyes.

“I’m Mikey, and it’s not like I was doing anything important or urgent. And to be honest, this is the most exciting thing that’s happened to me in a long time. As you may have noticed, I too am having a really bad bad.” We sit for a while, and then I start to drive. I’m not sure where I’m headed, but I know that I’m trying to show Mikey that life is still worth living. 

Even if I’m probably gonna be dead next week. It’s a bit hypocritical, but at least I won’t be dying by my own hand. 

 


	5. Mikey

Out of all the ways I expected tonight to go, this situation was nothing close to what I had imagined. To be completely honest, I didn’t think I’d still be thinking right now, but that’s life, huh? 

Pete is driving, fidgeting with everything within his reach. He’s accidentally flipped the turn signal on six times because he can’t keep his hands still, and he keeps glancing at me when he thinks I’m looking out the window. Suddenly, he stops in the middle of the road, making me fall forward into my seat belt.

“What the hell?” I exclaim, and then start laughing again. Technically I’m still kidnapped, so I don’t know where that came from. He apologizes even so, which makes me want to laugh harder, but I can’t read the expression on his face so I hold my laughter in.

“Um… so… you’re really hot.”

“No.”

“What?” Pete asks, taken aback by my frankness. Hey, nothing against him, but 1) I think I’m aromantic and 2) HE JUST FUCKING KIDNAPPED ME. I tell him the second point. “Hey,” he responds, “stockholm syndrome is a thing.”

“Not today it isn’t.”

Pete sighs, but he grins at me and continues to drive. 

“Where are we going?”

“Ice cream.”


	6. Pete

After being tragically turned down by Mikey, I’m slightly put out, but less than I thought I would be. It was a long shot anyway, and I’m not even sure I want to burden an already suicidal guy with my problems. I’m a walking problem, pretty much. 

As I’m driving, my phone starts to ring. Mikey picks it up gingerly and looks over at me. “Sexy Forehead Asshole is calling you.” The best part is that he says it in a complete deadpan and then raises an eyebrow at me like he’s questioning my life choices. Me too, Mikey. Then what he says registers.

“Oh fuck! Do not answer that,” I tell him, subconsciously speeding up.

“Okay. First, why are we going sixty miles per hour in a thirty five zone, and second, who the hell is ‘Sexy Forehead Asshole?’” Mikey asks me. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and then slow down, taking my phone from Mikey and powering it down before throwing it in the backseat.

“Sorry. Um, that’s… my… he’s just. His name is Brendon and he tried to make me sell some of his drugs but I flushed them down the toilet and now he’s trying to kill me because apparently the drugs were really expensive but he’s my only friend and we used to be fuck buddies and I really don’t wanna die but I sort of need $5,000 by Wednesday,” I blurt out, staring straight at the road and gripping the steering wheel tightly. Shit. I suddenly hope that Mikey isn’t secretly working for Brendon and I’m about to be shot in the head, wrapped in a trash bag and thrown in a river. But Mikey just snorts and then leans his chair back a little bit.

“Sounds like a party.”

I laugh dryly, saying, “You don’t know the half of it.”

“Tell me, then.”


End file.
